


Like a Puppy With a Bone

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: - because it's Sherlock, - very light, Anderson Is An Idiot, Annoyed Greg, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Roughness, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:</p><p>Greg frisking Sherlock in a very unprofessional, but non-sexual manner. Whether as part of his job or a personal crusade to make sure Sherlock's clean, doesn't matter. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Puppy With a Bone

Like a Puppy With a Bone

 

Lestrade threw Sherlock up against the wall just inside the flat with quite a bit of force. “Don't move. Not even an inch,” the DI warned, growling into the younger man's ear. “This isn't a game.”

“Lestrade-”

“It's Greg, you jerk, now put your hands behind your ahead.”

“But-”

“Now, Sherlock! Or fucking God help me.”

The detective huffed, jerked his sleeves slightly and rested his hands behind his head.

The DI shoved him against the wall, harder than before. “Now stay there,” he growled as he took out his handcuffs and snapped them around Sherlock's wrists. “I don't know what the hell you were thinking.” Greg started frisking the detective all along the length of his body. “Oh, I forgot. When you do these things you forget to think, despite how bloody smart you are.” He reached up and tangled his hand in his curls, shoving his head against the wall, “And don't you even think of arguing with me, Sherlock!”

The detective just huffed. The DI bent down to run his hands up Sherlock's legs, one at a time and then he started on his pockets. Greg pulled his hands from Sherlock's pockets and turned him around, slamming his back against the wall this time. “I know you have it hidden somewhere.” He grimaced. “Sod it.” The DI unzipped Sherlock's trousers and reached inside to check for the missing evidence.

Sherlock didn't comment. The DI wouldn't do anything he wasn't comfortable with, the detective knew. For a start, he was dating his brother, the most powerful man in the country, and secondly, he, himself was dating an ex-army doctor who would do his nut.

Finding nothing in his trousers, Greg glared up at the younger man. “Where is it?” He growled, buckling the trousers again.

Sherlock simply smirked in that maddening way of his.

“You are a complete arse.” Greg started unbuttoning the detective's shirt. He reached under it patting him down for the evidence.

“Wrong.”

On entering 221, John sighed.

“For God's sake, Sherlock. What has he done, Greg?” The doctor asked, as Mycroft stepped into the apartment behind him. The smug look on the government official's face was a picture.

“In a bit of a pickle, little brother?”

“Greg won't find anything the way he's looking,” Sherlock said smugly.

“Fine!” The DI threw up his hands. “John, would you take his snarkiness to the bedroom and do a quick cavity search?”

“Lestrade!” Sherlock protested.

“You can't steal evidence from me!”

“Take the cuffs off and I'll tell you where it is.”

The DI thought about it.

Mycroft walked up beside him and took his hand. “He won't tell you, Gregory. But I'm sure you already know that.”

“Come on then, little Holmes,” John ordered, snatching Sherlock's ear as he headed passed him and up the stairs.

Once they were in their bedroom, Sherlock started making his case as best he could. “John, I need that evidence. I have to run tests. You know that Anderson-”

The doctor shoved him down on the bed and straddled his hips. “Don't make me do that search, 'Lock. Where did you hide it?” He tickled Sherlock along his ribs. His shirt was still open so John had perfect access to everywhere that he needed.

“J-J-John, get off!”

“If I count to 10 and you haven't told me I will strip search you in the sitting room for your brother and Greg to watch.”

“But, John-”

“1”

“It's not fair.”

“2”

“I don't see...”

“3”

“why I should...”

“4”

“let Anderson...”

“5”

“impede on an...”

“6”

“investigation.”

“7”

“Besides...”

“8”

“I don't...”

“9”

“even have...”

“10”

“it on me.”

John grabbed Sherlock by the ear once more and began leading him to the sitting room.

The two older men had made themselves comfortable on the sofa. Well, Mycroft was on the sofa. Greg was on his lap.

“I gave him fair warning. He chose a strip search in your company.” John left him in the middle of the living room and got a pair of scissors from the desk. He turned back towards his boyfriend. “At least you're not wearing a jacket. It's a shame about the shirt, though.” The doctor approached and began cutting the shirt off of his boyfriend. “Too bad you couldn't just tell me where you hid the evidence.”

“Uncuff me and I'll tell you, I swear.” Sherlock had long since brought his hands back over his head, but that didn't mean he was much more comfortable.

“How about you tell us where it is or you'll lose the rest of your clothes.”

Stamping his foot, the detective whinged, “Greg, you know Anderson will get it all wrong. He's an idiot.”

“Brother-mine, just tell Gregory where the evidence is and save us all this embarrassment.” Mycroft's demeanour didn't match his words. He was clearly amused by the whole thing.

John pointed at Sherlock's feet. “Take off the shoes.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed.

Before John knew what was happening, Sherlock had reached his cuffed hands forward and wrapped them around John's neck, he brought him in for a kiss, hard, rough and passionate.

The doctor rode the kiss for a few moments, then he broke it off. “Nice try at diversion, but nope.” He ducked out of Sherlock's grasp, crouched and tapped one bespoke shoe. “Up.”

“You're no fun,” the detective complained.

“He's a sight more fun than Sally would be,” Greg said, his voice somewhere between amused and annoyed.

“God sake. It never left the Yard,” Sherlock huffed.

John froze, midway through taking off Sherlock's second shoe. “How do we know he's not lying?”

Mycroft eyed his baby brother for a moment. “He's not lying.”

“Right, well I'm not letting him go until I have it,” the DI said.

“Mate, at least uncuff him momentarily while I get him into a new shirt? Then go ahead and cuff him again. In fact, we can ride in the back of the police car, it may teach him a lesson.” With that, the doctor moved to the bedroom to find another shirt.

Sherlock jerked on the shirt John brought him and started buttoning it up. Unashamedly, the doctor watched, enjoying himself quite a lot.

“Honestly, John!” Sherlock sat and put his shoes to rights. “You would think you'd feel at least a modicum of guilt.”

“Nope. You did steal evidence, after all. You just didn't hide it on your very attractive person.”

The youngest man was grabbed by the copper again and thrown into the wall, he complied in letting Greg cuff his wrists behind him. He didn't need to be the world's only consulting detective to know that three against one weren't great odds, especially when one was the British Government, one an ex-army captain and one a high ranking police officer.

The DI dragged him roughly to the stairs. “You coming, you two?”

John glanced at the elder Holmes and shrugged. “Sure.”

The easy compliance threatened to come to a halt when Greg opened the back door of the police car and said, “Alright. In you go.”

“I refuse to ride in the back,” Sherlock declared as he had so many times before. John leaned forward and whispered something in the detective's ear and his shoulders sagged. “Fine.” He climbed into the back of the car.

Greg shrugged, even as John climbed in the back with his boyfriend and Mycroft joined him in the front.

“Comfy, Sherlock?” The DI asked, moving the rear view so he could glance at the detective.

His frown was answer enough.

Mycroft glanced sidewise at his boyfriend and snorted his amusement. “You handle my brother quite well, Gregory.”

“With John's help,” the DI nodded to the blond in the mirror. “Sherlock's more than a handful.”

“Sherlock is sitting right here!” the detective complained.

“Sherlock doesn't have an opinion on the matter,” John said as he smacked him on the back of the head.

Mycroft let out a chuckle.

“How the hell did he find you, John? Needle in a haystack and the best thing is he actually lets you do it.”

Sherlock wanted to cross his arms, but couldn't. Instead, he stuck his tongue out at Mycroft. “I let him do it because John is perfect. There's no one else like him.”

“Nice.” John chuckled and kissed the detective on the cheek. “Lean up.” He forced the key Sherlock had snatched from his grasp and passed it forward to Greg. “A bit too nice.”

“Ok, I've change my mind. Mycroft, you've locked me in the back seat with a monster.”

“Oh baby brother, again with the over dramatics.”

“This isn't fair. Anderson is a moron! Why does he get access to all the good stuff?”

Greg shook his head. “So it will be admissible in court. At the very least, ask! You could have been given permission to perform your test in an official capacity.”

Sherlock blinked, completely blindsided. “What do you mean?”

“You've been given official status as a consultant, brother-mine,” Mycroft said, one eyebrow shooting up.

John elbowed his boyfriend in the ribs. “Berk.”

“So I've realised my mistake. Now please let me go.”

“Ah,” Greg grinned, checking his mirror again. “He said please.”

“Not good enough,” John elbowed him again. “I'm not falling for it, 'Lock, so don't bother trying. In fact, I can't believe you've tried as many times as you have.”

Sherlock growled and glared out the window. He could out stubborn all three of them and they'd never guess where he'd hidden the evidence.

They pulled up at the Yard. Greg came around and opened the back door of the car and pulled Sherlock out. “Where abouts?”

“The only place Anderson would be too stupid to look. Well, you lot too, I guess,” Sherlock replied.

John clipped him on the back of the head again. “No more games, Sherlock.”

The detective sighed. “The forensic science lab.”

“You mean Anderson's office?” The DI asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I refuse to repeat myself.”

Suddenly, Greg started laughing and John soon joined in too.

“He hid it in Anderson's office.” The DI wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “God help me. He's mad as a hatter.”

“Worked, didn't it?” The youngest growled.

Greg shrugged and began dragging a now unprotesting Sherlock towards the station.

Every copper in sight obviously wanted to laugh at Sherlock's predicament, but when they spotted Mycroft it fell short rather quickly.

They went through the halls, into a lift, back through more halls, right to the lab doors. Greg knocked and Anderson looked up in surprise. Mycroft's presence didn't stop him from shooting a glare in Sherlock's direction through the glass wall.

The DI pushed the door open and pulled the detective through, the other two men following. “So, where is it?”

“I can't show you unless you uncuff me, Lestrade.”

“Yes, you can,” Mycroft ordered immediately. His tone of voice wasn't just for his brother's benefit but for Anderson's too. His brother may be an absolute arse at times, but the forensic scientist was bang out of order with his comments all of the time.

Sherlock shot Anderson a look and then moved over to a filing cabinet. “There's a pair of shoes in the bottom,” he told them, tapping it with his toe.

“No there's not.” Anderson stood and stalked to the cabinet. “Don't you think I'd notice if there-” He yanked the drawer open and glared at the shoes sitting there. He wheeled on Sherlock. “How? When? You are a menace, a freak!”

“Shoes! Shoes, Anderson!” Greg shouted. “You made it sound like he had the evidence on him, like it could be hidden.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, staring pointedly. “I highly suggest you leave the room, Mr. Anderson.”

The forensic scientist glared at Greg, as if for assistance.

The DI pointed at his boyfriend. “Do you really think I can tell him what to do?”

Sherlock grinned broadly, just to wind Anderson up. “If you do, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought.” He turned his back on Greg. “If you would, Detective Inspector.”

The DI uncuffed Sherlock. “Since the shoes never left the lab, there's no problem. Why don't you go ahead and perform your tests here.”

“Really?”

The greying haired man nodded, indicating the bench.

“I thought you were leaving Mr. Anderson,” Mycroft reminded him.

When the forensic scientist failed to take the hint, Greg grabbed him by the arm and walked him to the door. “Trust me. You were just going for lunch. A long lunch.” He started to close the door. “Really long.” The DI shut the door in a stunned Anderson's face.

The moment the forensic scientist was out of sight, Sherlock jumped in the air, did a little fist pump and actually hugged Greg. When he realised what he was doing, he jumped back like he had been scalded. “Sorry.” Then he grinned and hugged John, lifting him off his feet. “That was brilliant!”

When he was back on the floor, the blond watched him, almost confused. “You are like a puppy with a bone.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft called. “Baby brother! Don't think this is a reward for hiding evidence.”

“I know, Mycroft.” The detective was having too much fun to be annoyed. “But even you have to admit the look on Anderson's face was priceless.”

Mycroft couldn't hide his answering smile.

“Can you show up here all the time?” Sherlock asked.

“Did you just asked your brother to spend more time with you?” John asked astonished.

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times, making him look like a fish out of water. “That certainly wasn't my intention.” He grinned. “But we could terrorise Sally and Anderson both. It would be brilliant.”

Mycroft returned his brother's grin. “Yes, 'Lock. It would.”


End file.
